You know what’s funny? I used to think throwing a good party meant having everything. The perfect dinnerware set, matching napkins, three different appetizer platters, backup everything. My old apartment looked like Williams Sonoma exploded whenever I had people over, and honestly? I was stressed the entire time.
I’d spend the whole week before obsessing over details that didn’t matter. Should I get the expensive cheese or will people even notice? Do I need cloth napkins or are the nice paper ones okay? What if I don’t have enough wine glasses and someone has to drink from a mug? (Which, by the way, has never actually happened.)
The worst part was I’d be so exhausted from all the prep that I could barely enjoy my own parties. I’d be running around refilling things and washing dishes while my friends were having fun without me. Kinda defeats the purpose, right?
Everything changed when I started getting serious about minimalism about three years ago. At first I was just decluttering my stuff, but then I realized the same principles could apply to entertaining. What if instead of more being better, less was actually… better?
My first minimalist dinner party was almost accidental. I’d just sold most of my kitchen gadgets and fancy serving pieces, so I literally didn’t have the option to go overboard. I invited four friends over, made one really good dish – this amazing roasted chicken with lemon and herbs that my mom taught me – and served it with a simple salad and good bread from the bakery down the street. That’s it.
And you know what happened? Everyone raved about it. Not because the food was fancy, but because it was delicious and I wasn’t stressed. I actually sat down and ate with them instead of jumping up every five minutes to check on something in the kitchen. We talked for hours. Someone said it felt like the most relaxed dinner party they’d been to in ages.
That’s when it clicked for me. Minimalist entertaining isn’t about being cheap or lazy – it’s about focusing on what actually matters. Good food, good company, and not stressing yourself out trying to impress people with stuff they probably won’t even notice.
Now when I have people over, I stick to a few basic principles that have never let me down. First, I keep the guest list small. Six people max, usually four. Any more than that and you lose the intimacy. Plus, honestly, my dining table only seats six anyway, so this works out practically too.
I plan a simple menu that I can mostly prepare ahead of time. Usually one main dish that I know I can execute well, one side, and dessert if I’m feeling ambitious (which let’s be real, I’m usually not). Last month I made this incredible pasta with brown butter and sage for friends – took maybe thirty minutes total and everyone thought I was some kind of culinary genius. Sometimes simple really is better.
The key is choosing things you’re confident making. This isn’t the time to try that complicated recipe you bookmarked six months ago. Stick with dishes you’ve made before and know you can nail even if you’re slightly distracted by conversation.
For drinks, I’ve gotten into making one signature cocktail instead of trying to stock a full bar. Right now I’m obsessed with this gin and elderflower thing that takes two minutes to mix but tastes fancy. I make a big batch before people arrive and I’m done. Way easier than playing bartender all night, and people actually like having something special that feels thought-out.
The decor part is where minimalism really shines. I used to go crazy with table settings and centerpieces and all this stuff that just got in the way of actually eating. Now? Good lighting (candles are your friend), maybe some flowers if I remember to grab them, and that’s about it. Clean plates, actual napkins, and everything else can be basic.
I learned this the hard way, but your space doesn’t need to look like a magazine spread. It needs to feel comfortable. I’d rather have mismatched chairs where everyone can sit comfortably than some perfect aesthetic where people are afraid to touch anything.
Music is huge but most people overthink it. I have this one playlist that’s just mellow background stuff – some jazz, some indie folk, nothing too distracting. Volume low enough that people don’t have to shout over it. Done. You’re not throwing a rave, you’re having dinner.
The thing I’ve noticed about minimal entertaining is that it forces you to get the basics really right. When you’re not hiding behind fancy presentations and complicated menus, the food actually has to taste good. The company has to be worth spending time with. The conversation has to flow naturally. All good things, but it puts the pressure where it should be.
I’ve definitely had some failures learning this approach. There was the time I underestimated how much food people would eat and we basically ran out of dinner halfway through. Awkward. And once I got so focused on keeping things simple that I forgot to have any vegetables and served what was essentially bread and cheese for three hours. My friends still bring that one up.
But mostly it’s been revelatory. I spend way less money on entertaining now, which is saying something in San Francisco where even basic groceries cost a fortune. I’m way less stressed before and during parties. And honestly, I think my friends prefer it too. There’s something about the relaxed vibe that just makes everything more enjoyable.
The minimalist approach also works better with my lifestyle. I work long hours, I don’t want to spend my entire weekend preparing for a dinner party. Two hours of prep max, and that includes shopping. If I can’t pull it together in that timeframe, I’m overcomplicating things.
It’s funny how this mirrors everything else about minimalism – when you stop focusing on having the most or the fanciest or the most Instagram-worthy setup, you can actually focus on what makes experiences genuinely good. Nobody remembers your table runner, but they remember laughing until their stomach hurt or having that conversation that went on until 2am.
My coworkers still don’t totally get it. Tech culture is so much about showing off and one-upping each other, even with social stuff. People will spend ridiculous amounts throwing elaborate themed parties or hiring caterers for casual get-togethers. Which is fine if that’s what makes you happy, but it’s not necessary for a good time.
The best compliment I get now is when people tell me they want to have more parties like mine. Not because they were blown away by my hosting skills, but because it felt doable to them. Like they could actually pull off something similar without bankrupting themselves or spending three days cooking.
That’s really what minimalist entertaining is about – making good times accessible and sustainable. You can throw a great party with stuff you already have, food that doesn’t require a culinary degree, and friends who are just happy to spend time together. Sometimes the simplest approach really is the best one.
Lawrence’s a San Francisco software engineer who traded constant upgrades for intentional living. He writes about resisting gadget overload, curating only what adds value, and finding clarity in a world built on consumption